In Over His Head

Chapter 27

The light music playing from the radio was classical guitar music, and it seemed appropriate as Sharla unscrewed the top on a Spanish Albariño. She had spied it in the cellar as she had taken a quick tour, and the cook had said to help herself. She'd grabbed two bottles on impulse, and if they didn't uncork the second, no harm done, right?

She didn't want to overdose on French reds while they were here, so a white from somewhere a little warmer might just be a good thing for tonight. Cataloguing what they had drank today, She'd concluded there was no way Kevin could have been drunk. He'd just hit the wall. Or at least she hoped that was what it was, and he wasn't getting sick. So he could likely handle having some wine with dinner. Or she hoped he could. She had picked up and put back the wine twice before growling in frustration at herself, signing for them in the ledger, and stomping out of the cellar with the bottles fisted in both hands.

Sharla was fretting, and she hated fretting.

The lightness of the wine as she poured and tasted was soothing, further confirming her selection was the right one. Plus, a laid down Spanish white that wasn't a traditional white Rioja was a treat in itself. Most Albariño was drunk within months of it being bottled.

The reason for her anxiety was sprawled in an armchair near the fireplace. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, legs stretched out in front of him towards the fire, which was crackling away exactly like one of those YouTube videos you put on at Christmas, except with this one you could smell the hardwood burning. She flicked a glance at him as he shifted in his seat. He wasn't sick, that wasn't it. He'd been punishing himself since he got here, keeping himself stupidly occupied. Like Mo had warned her before that first trip together.

But was that all it was? His phone screen had brought her up short, and she amended her thoughts. It also might have something to do with her. He'd never broached the subject of "them" again since she made her choice that day in the office, but there she was on his phone, and it was hard not to think about it.

Since Italy, she and Kevin had developed a routine that on the surface was completely functional. Italy was behind them, and they went back to "normal", whatever that meant. Their dynamic was a relief, at least for her. Kevin never let on if it was easy for him or not. He was as outwardly steady as it came, but he was really good at stuffing his shit way down, controlling himself with practised ease.

That lock screen said something different though, and it picked at her.

"Hey, dinner's on its way up," she said, shaking herself out of thoughts that would do her no good as the creak of the Villa's antique cast-iron lift doors echoed across the stuccoed walls. His eyes fluttered open and met hers, her pulse skittering. Not now, O'Brien, keep it together, she chided in her head and busied herself with lighting some candles.

The cart rumbled in over the well-worn stone floors as she said it, and he grunted as he levered out of the chair and ambled over. Plonking himself down into a tufted dining chair, Sharla settled into one opposite him, the gleaming white plates and silver cutlery in front of them intimately set close to one another. The server slid their dinner in between them while both of them avoided looking across the table at each other. The young man smiled and bobbed his head as Kevin informed him they'd serve themselves.

"This looks good. I'm actually famished," Kevin remarked, and peered over at a casserole dish in front of them, still steaming from the oven. "What is it?"

"Like I promised, I asked them to make us a light meal, so I guess this is their interpretation of it? I asked for a salade Lyonnaise and a chicken dish, since that is fairly simple."

"This does not look simple," Kevin said, eyeing one serving dish with chicken breasts in a cream sauce. It smelled incredibly good, and Sharla's stomach rumbled.